


Blood, Ink, and Tears

by ego_to_ego



Category: markiplier - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Because it's the Host, Forgive Me, Gen, Markiplier egos - Freeform, Origin Story, idk how to tag, lots of blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-17
Updated: 2018-02-22
Packaged: 2019-03-20 11:31:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13716798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ego_to_ego/pseuds/ego_to_ego
Summary: How did the Author, a brash and headstrong man with two working eyes, turn into the Host, quiet and calculated, and very much blind? Well, it all started with a gunshot.





	1. Pain

**Author's Note:**

> This is based off a common theory in the fandom that Dark was the reason the Host lost his eyes. Thought I'd run with it and see how that would play out. And also fyi Dark goes by they/them pronouns in this story, just because I wanted to try it out.

The Author lies, bleeding out on the cabin floor. 

Dark’s shoes scuff against the rough wooden floorboards as they draw closer, the only sound besides the Author’s quiet whimpering. They take a second to compose themself and even out the smile on their face before the Author notices them. This was the moment Dark had been waiting for, oh so patiently. Dark hadn’t taken their eyes away from the Author ever since he came into being, ever since refusing their offer to stay at Egos Inc. and work with them. 

Dark doesn’t take very well to being rejected. 

The Author must have finally heard them, because his eyes, previously squeezed shut, open. His gaze locks with Dark’s, and they take extreme satisfaction in seeing the fear on that usually smug face. 

Dark stops walking, making sure their shoes aren’t stained by the blood pooling out between the Author’s fingers where they press against his gunshot wound. They notice, disinterested, that the Author’s other hand is also covered in blood. It lies stretched out, trembling on the floor. It appears as if the Author was trying to write on the floor with his own blood, but all that came out was chicken scratch. Dark thinks they can make out something that vaguely resembles the Author’s own name. 

_ Pathetic _ , Dark thinks, but they restrain themself from saying it out loud. 

“Would you like some help?” they say instead. All they get is a strangled gurgle in response, more blood spilling out from the Author’s mouth. Dark takes this as a yes. They grab a fistful of the Author’s hair and slam his head hard against the wood floor, killing him instantly.

* * *

 

When the Author wakes up, it’s to complete darkness and a horrible, searing pain. Not coming from his abdomen where he had been shot, but coursing through his skull, pooling behind his eyes. His face is wet, and strangely sticky. He brings in a shaky breath. 

A hand comes down on the Author’s shoulder, and he jumps, scrambling to get to his feet. The hand moves down to his arm, gently helping the Author up. 

“Good. You’re awake.” An echoing voice says. The Author jerks away from the hand. 

“Taking me to your void as a scare tactic won’t work, Dark.” The Author puts effort into making his voice as loud and brash as usual, even though he feels like throwing up. “At least stop being a coward and show yourself.” 

“Oh, you’re not in my void, darling,” Dark’s voice is as cool as ever, with a note of choreographed surprise. The Author grits his teeth, half from the pain and half from the use of the horrible pet name. It takes a second for him to fully process what Dark had said. 

“Shut up, you two-faced bastard” the Author snaps back. The Author’s stance reminds Dark of a cornered dog, and they grin to themself, knowing they were gaining the upper hand. 

 “You’re in your room at Egos Inc, the one I so graciously offered to you. Why are you so confused?” Dark takes a moment to pause for dramatic effect. “Are you having trouble…seeing?” 

The Author can just sense the smug grin on Dark’s face. They were right of course; the Author can’t see a damn thing. And if he isn’t in the Void, and if his eyes hurt so badly… 

The Author reaches a hand up to his face, and screams when his fingers dip into the sticky, but very empty, space where his eyes should be. The contact sends fresh waves of pain and nausea through him. 

“What have you done!” the Author cries. 

“I didn’t do anything.” Dark says matter-of-factly. “You did.” 

“Liar.” The Author feels like he’s on the verge of losing consciousness again. His feet stumble for a moment before he rights himself. Just as he starts to regain his composure, Dark speaks again. 

“Darling, you’re still holding the knife.” 

Horrified, the Author realizes that Dark is right. His right hand, stiff against his side, is still holding something in an iron grip. He lets it go and he hears the metallic clatter as it hits the floor. He hadn’t even realized he was holding it. 

“You should be thanking me.” Dark says. “You wouldn’t have made it if I hadn’t intervened.” The Author, pointedly, does not thank them. 

“But… I’m an author. How am I supposed to write if I can’t see?” 

“You’re not the author of anything. Writing books is a waste of your potential. You’re going to be my puppet, a host for my visions. We can do so much together, don’t you see?” 

“No…”  The Author breathes. The more Dark talks, the more reserved the Author becomes. Dark’s words are beginning to swirl around the Author’s brain like smoke, clinging to his thoughts. 

_ They’re a liar _ , the Author tells himself to clear his head. 

It doesn’t work. 

“Yes. Now, I’ve got places to be. So, you clean up now, _Host_ , and I’ll be back later to check in.” 

Something soft strikes the Author’s chest and he manages to reach up in time to grab it before it hits the ground. It’s a roll of clean bandages. 

“Borrowed those from the Doc,” Dark elaborates. “Wash your face before you put them on. Bathroom’s on your left.” The sound of the door slamming punctuates Dark’s speech, making the Author jump. 

Dark had left. 

A couple minutes pass until the Author attempts to make his way to the bathroom. After bumping into a couple pieces of furniture and one wall, he makes it through an open doorway and to the bathroom sink. He washes his face as best he can. Luckily, the pain coming from his empty eye sockets has somehow lessened from unimaginable agony to just a dull ache. 

He wraps the bandages around his head. He knows he did it sloppily, but he can’t bring himself to care. “I can’t see it, so what does it matter,” he mumbles to himself. 

After tying up the bandages, the Author reaches up to gently touch them where they sit, directly over his eyes. The fabric is already wet. 

The Author sits, back against a wall, legs curled towards his chest, until he hears the door open once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me at @ego-to-ego on Tumblr! Comments are much appreciated but of course not required.


	2. Obedience

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This the moment where I realized I screwed up the timeline. Hope you enjoy it anyway!

Over the course of a couple weeks, the Author grows more and more confident under Dark’s nurturing. That first day he had been so afraid, so ignorant to his potential. Dark had returned to the Author’s room that evening to see him curled up on the floor in an almost fetal position.  

“Stand up.” They had said sharply. The Author complied, rising to his feet unsteadily. “Come here.” Dark commanded again. The Author made slow progress towards the sound of Dark’s voice, until they reached out a hand to grab his arm and pull him towards them.  

“You’re pathetic.” Dark said, finally voicing their thoughts on the man in front of him. “All that power inside of you, and still you stumble around like a child. You don’t need your eyes to see, use your gift. Now,” Dark’s voice moved to a different section of the room, and the Author spun, trying to pinpoint their location. “come to me.” 

“If you ju-just give me a piece of paper and a pen-” The Author started before being cut off by Dark’s chuckling. 

“See, that’s where you fall short. Your whole life, you thought the key to your gift was writing. You closed yourself off to the possibilities. You…blinded yourself, in a manner of speaking” The Author flinched at his words, but was silent. He didn’t understand what Dark was getting at. 

“Say it out loud, you idiot.” Dark growled. “You don’t have to know where I am to walk towards me.” Finally, a little bit of what Dark was trying to say clicked in the Author’s brain. 

“I walk-” the Author started to say, but once again he was cut off. 

“Stop.” Dark’s voice rang out. “Did you write any of your books in first-person? No, you didn’t. This isn’t self-insert fanfiction. Use your name.” 

“The Author-” he starts again, but he doesn’t even finish saying his name before he is cut off once again.  

“What did I tell you before? You are no author. You are a host. Use the correct title.” The Author furrows his eyebrows. What was he doing, listening to this emo piece of shit order him around like a dog? 

“ _ The Author _ walks-” he started once again, putting emphasis on his name, but he barely got any farther again before choking on his own words, sputtering and coughing. He expected Dark to jump in again, telling him to try again, but there was silence.  

“The Auth-” No matter what he tries, he can’t do it. The words burn his throat on the way out, never allowing him to continue. He tries a valiant number of times, all while Dark stands somewhere in the room silently, likely judging his failed attempts to say his own name. Finally, he gives in.  

“ _ The Host _ walks towards Dark.” And then he felt it, the tug at the fabric of the world, the same feeling he got when he wrote his books. Invisible strings pulled him forward, guiding his legs until he could feel the cold lash of Dark’s aura against his skin.  

“Good boy” Dark says soothingly, and they reached a hand out to ruffle the Author’s short hair. He flinches, but doesn’t move away. “You did so well. But you still have so much to learn. Let’s try something new.”  

Two weeks later, the Author can function just as well, no, he can function  _ better _ than he could before losing his sight. He can navigate around unfamiliar areas, interpret people’s facial expressions, and respond to sudden attacks. He can narrate everything that’s happening around him, and even better, what has not yet happened. Still, the Author had not been in contact with a single person other than Dark since the event. Isolation isn’t a new concept to him at all, but shouldn’t there be more egos than just him and Dark at Egos Inc? Where was that ridiculous pink mustached man, what was his name? William…something? 

The Author doesn’t bring it up. Despite all his power, Dark still scares him. They’re always standing far to close, close enough for the Author to smell them. They smell like rose petals. Sweet rose petals someone spread over a corpse to cover the stench of death. Finally, Dark brings up the subject themself. 

“I think it’s time that you met the others” they tell the Author one day after a daily training session. This day was knife fighting, and the Author can feel the sweat dripping from his face mixing with the blood on his cheeks. He swept his hair back again. Mark’s hair had grown quite a bit longer recently, and the Host had taken to gelling it back to keep it from getting stuck to his bandages. He had also died a streak of it blonde. He liked having something to differentiate himself. It made him feel safe, in the same way his trench coat did. Right now, he was feeling extremely uncomfortable, so he pulled the jacket tighter around himself. 

“You’ll be a good boy, won’t you?” Dark asks the Author sweetly. 

“The Host will be good” he replies. And Dark smiles. Because once the Host says it, it is already truth. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me at @ego-to-ego on Tumblr! Comments are much appreciated but of course not required.


	3. First Meetings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry to say, but this is the end! I wanted to make this story longer but I decided to keep it short and sweet, or as close to that as I could get.

It had been weeks since Dark had called a meeting at Egos Inc. It had been weeks since Dark had even been  _ seen _ by the other egos. Usually that meant they were locked away in their office, but Wilford had burst into the room many times with an explosion of pink glitter only to find it empty. And so, the egos wait, on edge, for the ball to drop. Dark was planning something, and nothing good ever comes from that. 

Finally, the day comes. Far too early in the morning, the egos shuffle into the board room as a response to an impromptu meeting call. Dark is already there of course, seated at the head of the table. Their face is expressionless, like always, but their aura pulses red and blue with barely concealed excitement. They aren’t alone, however. To their right sits a man, arms folded stiffly, head held high. He looks like all the rest of them, of course he does. Google immediately catalogues all his physical attributes. His black hair is slicked back, a gold-blonde streak running through it. He’s clothed in a beige trench coat with a bloody bandage wrapped sloppily over his eyes. He doesn’t speak as everyone takes their seats, staring at the newcomer. Dr. Iplier finally realizes why he’d been so short on bandages lately.  

Wilford normally would be loudly introducing himself and the rest of the egos by now, but something about the coat the man wears makes a discomforting flicker of a memory pass through his brain. The room is silent. 

Bim finally takes it upon himself to break the silence. “Hello!” he says in his usual flamboyant tone. “I’m Bim Trimmer, game show host extraordinaire. Are you a new ego?” 

For a second, it looks like the man isn’t going to respond. Then his mouth opens, and a quiet, even voice replies, “The Host introduces himself, and confirms he is a new resident at Egos Inc.” 

Wilford’s eyes widen comically as soon as the Host speaks. He knows that voice, he knows he has heard it somewhere before. 

Dark’s eyes narrow as response to Wilford’s widened ones. Wilford is the only ego old enough to remember the Author’s first appearance. Dark had been banking on the fact that he had forgotten, considering he had lost interest in the new ego as soon as he refused to duel him with his bat. That was why Dark had been so eager to recruit the Author. They needed  _ someone  _ else behind them other than the deranged cotton-candy killer. Dark would admit they might have been a little  _ too _ eager. They just had needed to fill the empty space in the giant office building they had acquired, something to replace that cursed mansion. They had to drag Will out of that damn building, while he was still yelling out for Damien and Celine, oblivious to the fact they were standing right in front of him.  

Dark presses their fingers to their temple, trying to stop their train of thought before the cracks in their shell get out of control. It’s fine, they know they have the Host well trained enough for this. 

“The Author?” Wilford finally questions. Everyone turns their head to look at Wilford bemusedly, missing the tiny flinch the Host makes at the words. 

“No.” The Host responds, voice colder than before. “The Author is dead.” 

Wilford looks confused. Dark can practically see the gears in his head turning, trying to move though the web of madness and confusion that is his mind. In the end, Wilford doesn’t question it. Dark realizes this event may be beneficial. The other egos already act like they’re walking on eggshells when they talk to Wilford, there’s no way they’d bring up something they think would upset him. To them, the Author can be nothing more than another creation of Wilford’s imagination, like those “Celine” and “Damien” characters he won’t shut up about. 

“Well, welcome to the family, Hosty” Wilford says with a hearty laugh, twirling his mustache.  

“The Host thanks Wilford and the rest of the egos for being so welcoming” The Host responds with practiced words. 

“Of course, we’re quite glad to have you here, Host” Dark said lightly, a slight smile on his face. The Host stiffens as Dark’s hand trails down to the Host’s thigh under table, squeezing lightly. He can feel more blood soaking through his bandages and starting to run down his cheeks as his anxiety levels rise.  

“The Host is glad to be here as well” he replies, even though he feels like running far, far, away and never coming back. This is his life now, and he will learn to live with it. That doesn’t mean he will roll over and show his belly though. Dark has their strings wrapped around the Host’s neck, but the Host has his around the world. They cannot hold him forever. The Host mutters under his breath, too quiet for anyone else to hear. 

“Dark promptly moves their hand  _ away _ from the Host’s leg and keeps their hands to  _ themself.” _

The Host smirks as the cold hand withdraws, still mumbling rapid narrations in order to get an image of Dark’s disgruntled face, mouth twisted in a sneer, only the slight widening of their eyes giving away their shock.  

“The Host would also like to remind the others that he does not take kindly to being  _ messed with _ .”  _ God, this felt so much better. _ “He would not hesitate to vaporize anyone who does not treat him with  _ respect _ .” The egos grunt back in bored agreement, far too familiar to death threats to be afraid. 

Dark, however, is seething next to the Host, aura lashing outward with inky black tendrils to whip against the faces of Google and the Host. The Host knows his disobedience will be punished later, but he truly doesn’t care. A little bit of the Author’s flame of resistance still flickers inside him, refusing to be put out, despite all of Dark’s efforts. 

The Host isn’t a puppet, no matter what Dark says. He’s the puppeteer, and he wants to make sure everyone damn well knows it. 

“Anyway, the Host has heard that there is a recording studio in the building?” 

END 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me at @ego-to-ego on Tumblr! Comments are much appreciated but of course not required.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me at @ego-to-ego on Tumblr! Comments are much appreciated but of course not required.


End file.
